


learning to live again

by orphan_account



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, kidnapping leaves scars, so do dead sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ashley's into one of her Secret Service bodyguards. Spoiler, it's not Leon.





	learning to live again

At this point she’s quiet and wrung out and hollow, but it’s been almost six months since Lanshiang now and Helena’s stopped ever expecting it to be okay. Both Leon and her government-issued psychologist had assured her that feeling estranged from the rest of the population is normal after what she’s been through, and the psychologist had felt it pertinent to add that the wound of her sister’s death might never heal fully.

Honestly, Helena had wanted to spit in the woman’s face, but she was still on thin ice with her superiors as it was. At least that would never change.

With being on thin ice came last choice in assignments, and with nothing infectious and oozing trying to take over the world this week, that meant presidential protection for any able guns on the DSO staff. Or, in Helena’s case, former presidential family protection that no one else seemed to want.

“It’s pointless,” she’d heard one coworker mumble to another. “I mean it makes sense to protect the president in office, and former presidents, but their adult children? Who’s going to kidnap a former president’s daughter, especially with how well-liked Graham was?”

“She was kidnapped once already,” pointed out the other, pouring herself a mug of coffee.

“By a crazy cult who wanted to take over the world, if you believe Kennedy’s report. Not likely to be a repeat incident there, especially now that her dad’s not in office anymore. So why’s she still want protection, huh? How old is she now, twenty-nine? Not even in college anymore, girl’s got a real job–”

Helena had then stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door on her way out. Maybe it was the fact she had hardly slept in days, maybe it was the complete lack of caffeine in her system, maybe it was the temper everyone kept telling her she needed to keep under control, but her blood was at a boil with no signs of stopping.

That poor woman, being badmouthed by the people who were supposed to protect her.

—

After three hours in the car out to greater Philadelphia, the last thing Helena had expected was a petite blonde woman in a clean-pressed white blouse and stylish flats, who ushered her into her high-rise apartment and onto an overstuffed floral couch. President’s daughters were supposed to radiate arrogance while tastelessly overdressed, weren’t they? But this one looked sorrowful, almost apologetic, as she sat across from Helena on an ottoman.

“So… I guess Tyler got fed up with me too, huh? And now you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry.”

As a professional, Helena’s best move would have been to calm down the woman, assure her that her protection was not a burden but her right, and then say something witty, maybe charming. Get her to smile.

In reality, Helena was not particularly good at being professional. “Tyler O'Keeffe?” she asks. A nod of confirmation from across the stunted coffee table. “He’s an ass.”

This woman (Ashley, Ashley something, Helena remembers, half of the name from the file coming back to her belatedly) abruptly bursts into snickers, covers her hand with her mouth in a fruitless attempt to look less amused. The laugher continues a good second longer than seems appropriate for the situation, until even Helena snorts at her own assessment of her coworker’s character.

“Are you even allowed to say that?” she asks, after the laughter finally stops, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.

“…probably not.” Helena amends, looking far less sorry about the statement than she should. “But it’s true.”

—

The next several weekends were among the most pleasant workdays Helena had ever experienced. Evidently, during the week Ashley was guarded by two undercover agents-– the first being in the coffee shop on the first floor of her workplace, and the second being an agent from the Philadelphia field office who had agreed to live in the adjacent apartment in exchange for a very generous pay raise. That left Helena as Ashley’s escort on weekends, when she generally accomplished things like shopping or errands.

Objectively, it was completely excessive for a woman whose former presidential protection expired at the end of the year, the ten-year mark of her father’s leave from office. Subjectively, it seemed to make her feel safe, and so Helena didn’t mind.

On at least a base level, there was the same feeling of paranoia after having lived through a bio-organic hell, and Helena could relate to that far more deeply than she wanted to.

—

“I should really just get over this,” Ashley burst out one afternoon, in the middle of picking through a clothes rack for new work-appropriate slacks. “I mean, it was what? Ten years ago? I’ve been telling myself for years and years that I’ll let all of you get back to your real work next month, that I can take care of myself from now on. But it’s a lie! I–”

She stopped, abruptly, and Helena followed her gaze. Both realized that the other patrons of the store were staring at them, and Ashley lowered her voice before continuing.

“How do I– you seem so confident, how do you do it?” Her voice was quiet, desperate, and began to break a little. “Tell me how to feel safe walking down a dark street at night when I’ve been dragged into a van and had a rag held over my mouth until I passed out.”

Helena looked down and let out a breath, struck by compassion.

“Learn to cut their throat first,” she managed, finally, voice thick.

—

Despite Helena’s insistence that she was not an instructor, she found it first difficult, then impossible to be the obstacle that prevented Ashley from feeling safe again. In the past, Ashley had attended multiple self-defense classes, even one before the abduction that had proved to be of very little use in the heat of the moment.

Instead, she was determined for Helena to teach her close-quarters knife combat, in the mixed CQC style employed by the Secret Service. It was possible she had taken the throat-cutting comment entirely too literally.

In desperation, Ashley offers to make them both a good meal in exchange for an hour of practice, Helena can’t find it in her to refuse, and they move the living room furniture aside that afternoon.

—

As it turns out, Ashley does not appear to have a promising future career in the Secret Service, although Helena does take her to an army outlet and helps her select a knife with good balance and a low-maintenance metal. But despite not having what most instructors would qualify as ability, each week Ashley seems bolder, more confident, and walks further away from her escorts for longer lengths of time. It’s not the blade or the skills so much as it is a symbol of her own freedom that she’s slowly gaining back.

Their Saturday dinners get longer and more elaborate, more like something between friends than business acquaintances. Helena eats heartily, because food someone else cooks for you always tastes better and that’s a luxury she hasn’t had in at least ten years. Ashley, for her part, seems to enjoy cooking for them, because unlike courage it’s something that comes easily and naturally to her, and Helena’s blatant praise makes her flush with pride.

The night they stay up late talking about nothing and Ashley offers to let her guest crash on the overstuffed floral couch, Helena is fairly sure she’s developing feelings this woman, and knows damn well that’s unprofessional.

—

“We should go out to eat tonight,” Ashley suggests suddenly one week, contemplating the meager contents of the refrigerator with a frown.

“Why? You’re not getting shy about your cooking, are you?” Helena’s tone is teasing, but she turns away from moving the TV stand back to its pre-lesson position anyway.

Ashley flushes, starts to stammer as she shuts the fridge. “No, well, I mean, um, I didn’t really get a chance to get to the store this week and–”

Helena cuts in before Ashley has a chance to finish, shakes her head. “We could go now, I don’t mind, it’s not–”

“But I’m really kinda hungry now, I guess, if you’d rather eat something here, we can…?” Ashley’s voice, initially high and nervous, drops to a halfhearted mumble before trailing off.

For a long moment both of them just stand there, hoping the other is going to say something, anything, while they internally berate themselves.

Helena breaks first with a sigh. “No, no, going out’s fine. Where did you have in mind?”

The tension dissolves and Ashley smiles, visibly relieved. “Someone at work told me about this seafood place, the Crab’s Claw. I’ve always wanted to try it, but it’s a little depressing eating in a restaurant by yourself, don’t you think?”

—

Dinner is nice, even euphoric in ways it has absolutely no right to be between people connected professionally, and the effect remains long after they drive back to Ashley’s apartment, something like caffeine and too much wine. When Helena bids Ashley goodnight it’s still there and she can’t help but pull her in close to kiss her on the cheek. It’s good, cute, the sort of thing particularly tipsy friends or maybe Europeans might do, but the kicker comes when Ashley is still close and the pads of Helena’s fingers find the small of her back.

It’s light, only for a second or two and it’s hard to tell in the darkness, but Helena swears Ashley looks up at her and her pupils are blown. Her breath smells like oysters and garlic covered up poorly by peppermint and Helena doesn’t even mind all that much, in the moment. She thinks about kissing her, but even this lightheadedness doesn’t erase the fact that there’s a professional line to be adhered to and this whole game is so much harder when you have to guess who plays for your team in advance.

A fraction of a second later they break apart, awkwardly, and go their separate ways.

—

Although that particular moment doesn’t come up again, it’s mutually agreed that eating dinner somewhere together is a lot of fun and a nice way to get out. Helena, for her part, stalwartly refuses to believe that the concept of dating is anywhere in the equation, but it’s still a good way to blow off steam, and hey, there’s nothing wrong with looking.

Chinese comes up, eventually, and in between mouthfuls of greasy fried rice it doesn’t occur to Helena that anything could possibly go wrong until there’s a banging from the kitchen. One of the chefs dropped something, and there’s several voices yelling and cursing in Chinese.

Suddenly the rooms seems miles away and everything’s moving so fast, not fast enough, and Helena’s back on the line of life and death, feels the desperation and rage coiling within her that mix into bloodlust. Somehow she motions to Ashley, who seems to understand, and without any further words she flees.

Ashley gets their food to go while Helena attempts to collect herself in the bathroom, hoping enough cold water on her face will stop the shaking.

—

It’s only in the car under Ashley’s stare, one that can only be described as ‘aggressively concerned’, that Helena offers any explanation for her behavior.

“I… went to China recently. It didn’t go so well.” she murmurs under her breath, trying to keep tears from prickling at the corners of her eyes. She tells herself it’s grief for her sister, and maybe that’s partially true. What the hell’s wrong with her? She’d always been able to manage before.

In the opposite seat, Ashley is putting pieces together. “Was it for work?”

“That depends who you ask,” Helena chuckles darkly. “Was it officially sanctioned? No. But they approved it afterwards.” It doesn’t really occur to her that she shouldn’t be telling Ashley this, that leaking intel could get her fired. Not that it would matter anyway.

Ashley opens her mouth, shuts it again, frowns, then finally speaks again. “Let me know if I’m completely off here, but… was it that bioterrorism incident, a few months back?”

Helena only stares back in shock. ”How–”

“I guess you could say I felt something from you. Like you were another survivor.” It’s Ashley’s turn to look away. “Now I know.”

“…sorry. That was unprofessional.”

Ashley looks aghast. “That’s– no, just don’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve got this thing going on where whenever something happens, or we really start to talk, you go back and draw that line. Are you really only associating with me because it’s your job?!” The second it bursts out of her mouth, Ashley seems to regret it, not least of all given the situation and the fact that Helena is still shaking. She closes her eyes, sighs. “Sorry, I’ve–”

“No, it’s–”

“–just been stressed lately, and questioning some things–”

“–actually that I didn’t want to assume that this–”

“–and I mean I really like you!” Silence falls. “I mean, I like being around you, you’re… nice.”

Helena raises an eyebrow, can’t keep from chuckling weakly. “Nice?”

“Fine, how would you describe yourself?” Ashley crosses her arms in what is absolutely not sulking.

“A fixer-upper,” she grumbles, staring at the Chinese in her lap as if it might provide easy answers.

Ashley pauses, reflects, lets out a breath. “Aren’t we both?”

Helena looks up, sighs. She doesn’t have the energy to do the right thing right now. “…look, if you’re… Anyway, if you’re seriously implying what I think you’re implying, it’s… I like you, too.” She runs a hand through her hair, tense and worried she’s made a misstep somehow.

There’s a moment where both of them are too afraid to speak, but Ashley finally manages “…should we maybe find out if this could get you fired first?”

“Hell if I care,” comes the reply, quickly and easily with the fire coming back. “It wouldn’t be the first thing they were mad it me for.”

Ashley smiles, nervously reaches out a hand, and that’s where it stays, intertwined with Helena’s for the rest of the ride home.


End file.
